Time to play with fire
by PerfectlySoundAnalysis
Summary: Sherlock just has to find out about the true nature of John's feelings for him. In order to do so, he has to take radical measures...Rated M for further chapters, which will definitely contain slash.
1. The Green Fairy

_I would never have considered writing fan fiction, but immediately after watching the very first 'Sherlock' episode I knew I just had to start writing to cope with this 'terrible' obsession._

_Thanks to a good friend of mine (who is also obsessed with the series by now), I finally had the courage to upload my very first story. I really hope you like it and please feel free to review :)_

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><p>When John woke up that morning, the sun had already risen and he felt the sunlight warm on his cheek. After several days of rain the prospect of having a warm, sunny day made him beam with joy. After work he would meet Sarah for a cup of coffee in their favourite French pavement café and they had planned to spend the evening at her place with a bottle of Bordeaux and some DVDs.<p>

He couldn't imagine a more pleasant evening: Spending time with the most extraordinary woman he had ever met, an excellent vintage, romantic movies they would watch huddled up to one another on the sofa, and, what was most important to him, _no Sherlock_. By that time John didn't have problems any more with living together with Sherlock, but sometimes he was simply fed up with his playing the violin in the middle of the night, his experiments and his moodiness. No, today he would spend a most welcome evening with his girlfriend and forget all about the situation at home and the eccentric consulting detective waiting for him there.

Buoyantly, he got dressed and hurried downstairs to make himself a cup of tea and a slice of toast. With the cup in one hand and a plate in the other he swiftly turned around to sit down at the table, when his gaze fell upon a figure huddled up on the sofa. He quietly went over to the sofa and cautiously tapped the figure on the shoulder.

"Sherlock? Are you all right?"

Upon this, the tall man with the curious chestnut-coloured curls moaned and turned his back on John.

"Leave me be!" It sounded muffled from somewhere under the cushions.

Could it be possible? Did Sherlock really have a hangover? This certainly appeared to be the case. But Sherlock would never go to a pub, 'too many people, too much alcohol slowing down one's brain function quite alarmingly,' Sherlock liked to say when John invited him to join him for a pint.

And now Sherlock obviously had had one over the eight. Maybe he had run out of nicotine patches and had had to stop himself from smoking by consuming some other 'drug'. At this moment John spotted a completely empty bottle of absinthe lying under the coffee table. He was sure the absinthe bottle had been almost full the last time he had noticed it in the cabinet.

"Sherlock, please don't tell me you drank a whole bottle of absinthe last night? You do know it contains 60% ABV, don't you? And you drank the _whole_ bottle! Are you insane? You could have poisoned yourself!"

"Oh John, calm down! I didn't drink the whole bottle, just...a few glasses. It's so green and shiny, don't you think? Sooo green and...shiny..." And with those words he dozed off again.

John shook his head, unable to believe how irresponsibly his flatmate could behave. Had he used the alcohol to help him think about the new case they were involved in? Trying not to think about the whole situation any more, he picked up the bottle and threw it in the bin.

"All right, Sherlock, I'm off to work now. See you later!" And that was when he opened the door and went outside, only to come back again, saying "Oh, by the way, I'll be at Sarah's tonight, so you'll have to make dinner yourself. There's still some pasta in the fridge, that is if you want some. Well...er...bye, then."

The moment John stepped outside the front door to hail a cab Sherlock hastily jumped up and ran over to the window, watching from behind the curtains as John got in the black car and disappeared out of sight. It really made Sherlock mad to be forced to spend the whole day alone in the flat. Even just the prospect of it bored him to death and so far he couldn't think of a single solution to this very serious problem. His attempt to trick John into staying at home to care for his 'sick' flatmate obviously had been fruitless.

And now he was alone, all alone in the untidy universe of 221B Baker Street on a ragingly beautiful day as this. Other people might have considered going out for a walk or something as terribly dull as that, but Sherlock being Sherlock, he would sooner have died than doing something 'other, ordinary people did.'

At first he thought he might occupy himself with the case he and John were currently working on, but then on the other hand the case was so unspectacular that he quickly abandoned the thought. No, the case would certainly be solved quite, quite soon even without him helping Scotland Yard connect the dots.

Why had John accepted to do this job at the practice? Why had he thought it would be all right to simply leave Sherlock in their flat, all on his own, for at least seven hours each day? And today it was even worse as John would spend the evening together with Sarah, probably doing all sorts of ridiculously romantic things like watching chick flicks and drinking wine. Sherlock snorted disapprovingly. But all of a sudden, a new, definitely more than just remotely interesting thought flashed through his mind.

Yes, that would certainly keep him occupied for quite some time and it might even be bloody good fun as well...


	2. Difficult choices

The day at the practice had been pretty exhausting so far and John could think of nothing else than his date with Sarah later on, smiling broadly whenever he did so. Only...he looked at his watch...148 minutes and...29 seconds until then. Sarah seemed to feel exactly the same way about it as she smiled and winked quite seductively whenever their paths crossed several times that morning.

This time, John was sure about that, she was the right woman. Sarah was the woman he had been waiting for all his life. Clever, funny and so stunningly beautiful. John had often thought about how it would be to be married to her. But right now he just didn't feel ready to take their relationship to the next level. They had only known each other for half a year, after all, and although they got along extraordinarily well, John's mind told him it was just too early to think about such serious things as marriage.

Deep in thought, John did not immediately realise his mobile phone was vibrating. Someone had sent him a text and of course he knew - without even glancing on the display - who it was. Sherlock was obviously suffering from acute boredom and had decided to torture John to have some fun. But when John eventually read the text, it was not what he had expected:

**Meet me at the morgue. Immediately. Very urgent. Lives at stake. -SH**

He hadn't expected such a serious message and therefore started to worry something might not be right. He thought for a moment, then decided it was best to go to the morgue, see what had occurred and be back in time for his date with Sarah later on. Yes, that was definitely the best idea.

If he didn't show up at the morgue, Sherlock would probably turn into a pouting 6-year-old and blame John for not caring about his flatmate and he really could not risk that. Sherlock in his sulky moods was the worst case scenario, because one could never know for sure what he was going to do or say during those. No, John really had to show up at the morgue, he wouldn't have to stay long.

John left his office to look for Sarah, who was standing at the coffee maker patiently waiting for a cup of latte macchiato, her favourite coffee as John knew by then.

"Sarah," he said, gently lowering his chin upon her left shoulder, "I have to leave for round about an hour. It's an emergency."

"Oh John, please, don't tell me this is about Sherlock again! He's your flatmate, for God's sake, not your husband. And you're not his lapdog, you don't have to follow him wherever he goes. Really, John, why do you allow him to do this to you? You don't get enough sleep, you spend all your time racing from one part of London to another just to send a text for him and still he completely and utterly ignores you and treats you like a drudge. John, I really love you, I care for you and I want you to be happy. But apparently, with Sherlock around, that just isn't possible. So, please, darling, please promise me you won't go there. All you do by eventually going there is enhancing the notion that he owns you. Please..." she begged, grasping his hand and holding it tightly in her own.

"John, please stay here. Not for my sake, but for you own. For your own good."

John suddenly saw two huge hazel eyes staring at him with some unfathomable emotion. John didn't know what to do. Blast! Why did it all have to be so difficult? He really truly loved Sarah and didn't want to hurt her for the world, but Sherlock...he was his flatmate and John had to admit that he started to care for this man despite all his selfishness, moodiness and eccentricity. Somehow the man fascinated him. What should he do? _What?_ But hadn't Sherlock written that there were 'lives at stake'? Normally he used to lie about such things, but what if this time - just this one time - he wasn't lying? What if someone really was in danger? How could John ever continue living knowing that he had ignored a most urgent request for help? It was at this moment that John made a decision. He turned around sharply to face Sarah, who was still holding his hand, and said "I'll be back in no time, darling. Just give me 45 minutes." And with those words he rushed out of the practice, forgetting his jacket and his other things back in his consulting room, and got into a cab. John told the driver the address and started tapping his fingers on the seat nervously. What if something really wasn't right? But then, why did Sherlock want to meet John at the morgue, of all places? Well, he would have to finally arrive there to find out what was really going on.

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><p><em>There will be some much more exciting things going on in the next chapter, so stay tuned :) We're going to find out what Sherlock's really up to...<em>


	3. A girl's dream fulfilled

_I promised something more exciting, so there you are :) It's not Sherlock/John slash (YET!), but I hope you like it anyway._

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><p>Sherlock nervously stared on his watch for what must have been the hundred and second time. Why didn't John come? Hadn't he received the message? Was he stuck in the practice? Had Sarah forbidden him to come? Sherlock snorted. Women! They always had to be so overly caring and protective of everything and everyone they thought was theirs. How possessive they were!<p>

But then finally he heard a car stopping outside the building. He threw a quick glance out of the window to confirm it was John who had just arrived. His heart jumped when he saw the familiar man get out of the taxi, starting to walk towards the main-entrance. Now the time had finally, finally come to put his plan into action.

Today he would finally find out whether Dr John shared his feelings. Ever since he had moved into 221B Baker Street, Sherlock had been fascinated by this man and eventually he had realised his fascination had quickly turned into mad love and even obsession. Sherlock couldn't bear being without John - he wanted him in his arms, every second of every day for the very rest of his life. He wanted to feel John's hand in his hair, their limbs entangled, their mouths glued to each other. He wanted to feel John's hardness pressing deliciously against his body, he wanted to feel the ecstasy running through his blood, he wanted to make John come screaming his name, telling him pantingly it was the best orgasm he had ever had. Sherlock involuntarily shivered with lust, letting out a short, but clearly noticeable moan.

He quickly turned around to see if anyone had been close enough to hear it, but apparently there wasn't anyone within earshot. _Thank God,_ he thought, as he closed his knee-length coat even further to hide his rising erection. _Oh John, when will you finally be mine?_ Again he shivered with overwhelming lust and desire. He was sure he couldn't take it any longer. He had to know if John felt the same way about his flatmate. He would do anything to find out, even if that meant discarding all of his dignity.

He turned around, searching. Where the hell was she? She always was around when he wanted to be left alone, ready to annoy him with her shocking cretinism and her credulity. But now that he really needed her for his plan, she had decided to play hide-and-seek with him. He slammed his fist upon the table. _Blast!_ He had to put his plan into action right now or the whole timing would go utterly wrong.

At that very moment Molly came into the room. She was very confused. "A-Are you all r-right? I heard a loud noise a-a-and thought, well, maybe..." She couldn't bear looking the man in the eye. He was too handsomely beautiful, too sensual, too desirable in fact to be bothered with her humble presence. That was why she immediately started to turn around again, hurrying towards the door, absolutely ashamed. "No, er...wait!" - he couldn't believe he was actually saying that - "Why don't you stay so we can talk a tiny bit?" He shook again, but this time definitely not out of arousal. "I...er...I...weeell...uhm...yes, that would be...nice...very nice, in-indeed..." she stuttered, not knowing what to think.

Even before she could think about it any further, the tall handsome man started to walk across the room towards her, slowly taking off his coat as he did so. Her breath quickened and flattened considerably when she looked down and saw his erection protruding from his trousers. Was he going to...? Oh God, he was coming closer still. Suddenly Molly felt peculiarly helpless. This was the moment she had dreamt of for so long and now she was just overwhelmed by the heat and intensity of it. This was by far better than she could ever have imagined in her dreams that had been so dirty that she was terribly afraid anyone might find out about them.

Right now Sherlock was only a few more inches away from the shivering woman and he started to unbutton his purple shirt. Molly felt the blood rush from her cheeks to between her thighs as she started moaning lightly. The excitement she felt made her body ache with lust. Now he was so close that she could have touched his bare chest with her hands had she dared to. Maybe it was best to let him do all the work. She just couldn't focus hard enough to think of what to do. He had complete control over her and this notion made her feel even weaker and more helpless, but oh, it felt so good.

Sherlock on the other hand felt nothing but contempt - contempt for the terribly disgusting thing he was about to do just to understand the nature of John's feelings for him. OK, what to do next? He closed his eyes as he started to caress her breasts, stroking and eventually pinching her clothed nipples, trying to think they were John's. He unbuttoned her blouse, took it off her shoulders and threw it away in one swift motion. The expensive shirt landed somewhere on the far from clean floor, but right now Molly just couldn't care less. She closed her eyes firmly as he let his tongue rampantly explore her now exposed neck, eventually biting her so hard she winced. _Yes, hurt me...just hurt me...make me...bleed...make my body ache!_ Molly thought, blushing girlishly as she did.

Sherlock continued by drawing her as close as he could stand, placing his hands playfully on her hips and bending her down with an intimate, wet kiss. The girl was definitely aroused enough by then, so Sherlock wasted no time when he heard loud steps coming up the stairs, followed by John's voice shouting "Sherlock?" Panic started to flare up in Molly's eyes. She obviously feared someone might see them together like this. But Sherlock smiled. This was exactly what he had wanted in the first place.

"D-Don't you want...to see...if..." the woman beneath him stuttered while trying to release her mouth from his, but he didn't have time to argue with her. So he simply pressed his lips on hers as brutally as he could, thus gagging her and shoving his tongue into her throat. He didn't care if he hurt her. John just had to get the impression they were engaging in a most seductive activity.

Would he be jealous if he saw them like this? Sherlock shagging this innocent girl in such a rough way...maybe he should have brought his riding crop with him, just to make it look even more dramatic. Oh, yes, Sherlock definitely liked the thought of John spying on him when he was having sex. And he liked the thought of activities including him and John and the riding crop. Those mere thoughts brought back the shudder and he almost came.

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><p><em>I sincerely apologise for letting Sherlock treat Molly so badly, but I just love this cold-hearted Sherlock. He's such a bad boy, isn't he? ;)<em>


	4. A shocking discovery

_Thanks for the wonderful, inspiring reviews! They really helped me with this chapter._

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><p>With brute force Sherlock shoved the girl onto the dissecting table. She looked as if she couldn't believe what was happening. She started panting and moaning recklessly and uncontrollably, her hips thrusting against him. What a pity he wasn't turned on by it, not the least bit. In his imagination it was John lying there beneath him on the cold metal table, with sharp dissecting tools scattered all around them. Just the thought of it...yes, the thought of shagging John at this place curiously turned Sherlock on.<p>

Then his mind was invaded by the image of John standing behind him in his doctor's overall, holding up a syringe and Sherlock's riding crop, giving him the choice how he wanted to be punished for his actions. His body reacted immediately and again Sherlock yearned for John, for the man with the riding crop, inside of him. He needed to feel John's cock pressing hard against his prostate and to hear the man moaning shamelessly into his ear. A stifled groan escaped his throat, which obviously turned the girl on. He tried to focus on the task at hand although this was really, really difficult with John on his mind. He let his hands move up her legs and caressed the insides of her thighs. He grabbed her skirt and pushed it up with his right hand. The whole situation was rather a turn-off for him, but again the thought of John...could compensate for this _very nicely_.

John climbed the stairs. Where could Sherlock be? He shouted again "Sherlock! Sherlock, where are you?" He had got lost as always and didn't know where to go. Why was there no one he could ask? "Sherlock, for God's sake! Just bloody tell me where you are!" And that was when he heard a loud moan and a sharp lustful cry. "Sherlock! Oh...oh God! Yes..." No, this time it wasn't him crying for his flatmate. It was a voice that sounded slightly familiar to John's ears, although he couldn't quite remember where he had heard it before. It was definitely a female voice...wait, a female voice? Since when was Sherlock interested in spending time with women? What the...? He rushed up the last flight of stairs, looking around hectically.

Sherlock knew the moment had finally come - the moment he had planned so precisely and of which he had dreamt for almost half a year by then. John watching him during sex, forced to become a voyeur...oh...oh...oh, that was quite...brilliant...and...most alluring, upon further thought. It made him...feel yet another shudder run through his body, starting from his nervous system and speedily rushing down towards his fully erect penis. But now something was different from the times before. It was better...it made him...come, he was sure about that. Closing his eyes, he let the feeling take control of him and send shivers down his spine. A loud groan burst from his lips and he felt the woman thrust clumsily a few times...what was she doing? Was she trying to intensify his pleasure? Bad idea. No, he had definitely had enough - now he was fully aware again of why he had never really been in love with a woman. They were all so dull and when it came to the topic of sexual intercourse, they all without exception behaved in the same incomprehensible way.

When he heard the door to the morgue clunk shut, he knew John had got the impression he had been supposed to get. Sherlock smirked. The plan had really worked out well. Hastily he got off the table. He dressed again, absent-mindedly buttoning his purple shirt as he wondered how John might react when he came home. Would John still be eager to go on his date with Sarah? Well, that exactly had been what he had wanted to find out with this little...experiment. He was so curious about the results that he could not wait to get home. Completely dressed again he turned on his heel to face the girl from the morgue for a brief second. What was her name again? He couldn't remember. Well, it really was of no importance. "Look," he said, "you've served your purpose quite nicely. Now be a good girl, get dressed again and get out of here. And I strongly assume you won't tell anybody about our encounter. Afternoon!" he said light-heartedly, winking and leaving the building with hasty, but buoyant steps. "Taxi!"

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><p>John felt like throwing up. He couldn't really comprehend what he had just witnessed there, in the morgue. Sherlock...and Molly, the young woman who was always around when they had to examine a corpse and who was obviously head over heels in love with his flatmate, lying on the dissecting table and having sex - very rough sex obviously. Holy Lord, this was just too much to handle. He certainly hadn't wanted to disturb their privacy, but how for goodness' sake could he have known what they were doing in there, just then?<p>

But what had surprised him even more than to find two people having sex in a morgue was that it was Sherlock having sex in a morgue...with a woman. First of all John hadn't even been aware Sherlock had any sort of sex life at all and if he had, John had always been so sure Sherlock was gay. The way he treated women, disrespectful and anything but gentlemanly, had made it very clear to John his flatmate did not care for women. So the fact that he had just witnessed this either asexual or gay man having sex with a _female_ human being made John doubt his own intellectual abilities. How could he have been so wrong about Sherlock? Not that he had ever imagined how it would be to have sex with his flatmate...well, maybe he had once or twice in his darkest dreams, but he himself certainly wasn't gay. He was happy with Sarah, she was all he could ever have asked for.

But upon further consideration he realised their relationship simply lacked the excitement and the 'hunger for more' a relationship with a man like Sherlock Holmes would entail. _No, no, no, John H. Watson, stop it! You're in a very satisfying relationship with a wonderful woman and so is Sherlock, obviously. You mustn't take the risk._ His mind was probably right. It was foolish to think such an impossible relationship might actually work. Besides, there had been this one time at Angelo's, while they were working on their first case, 'A Study in Pink', when Sherlock had told John he considered himself married to his work and thus had made very clear to him he just wasn't interested in dating or flirting with him. So why should he think about it any more? The whole thing was absolutely clear.

And with this thought in mind and a slightly disappointed feeling (he really wondered why) he got into a waiting cab. "221 Baker Street, please." he told the driver. When the car headed for the main road John caught a quick glimpse of the building he had just left and wondered when Sherlock would come home. There would clearly be an awkward atmosphere in the room once he got home. John sincerely hoped Sherlock hadn't noticed him 'spying' on them. But then Sherlock was a detective, whose ability of deduction was just breathtakingly awesome. Surely Sherlock would never be able _not_ to notice something within his range. Blast! There would definitely be a lot of awkward looks and unanswered questions in the room. Maybe John should not return to Baker Street and instead spend the day at Sarah's or Harry's. But on the other hand he would have to face the confrontation with Sherlock eventually, so what good was there in running away from the inevitable? No, he would have to return to Baker Street and face the upcoming conflict. Doing anything else might very easily make him look like a coward in Sherlock's eyes and he really wasn't keen to have Sherlock think of him as a coward.

"All right, here we are then, sir. 221 Baker Street."

Reluctantly, John got off the taxi and approached the front door. By the time he entered the living room, he had completely forgotten about his date with Sarah.

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><p><em>Okay, from now on I'll focus on the most important part of the story. Three guesses what that is ;)<em>


	5. Just a bit of a teaser

_I promised some nice Sherlock/John slash - so there you are! But of course that's just the beginning of it._

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><p>John sat uncomfortably on the otherwise quite comfortable sofa. His gaze fixed on the door, he waited for Sherlock to return. Or...did he? He wasn't entirely sure he wanted him to come home. All the awkward glances, questions and...well, just the situation itself was absolutely awkward. He lay down, closing his eyes and trying to relax. He had unconciously adopted the posture that was so very typical of Sherlock when he was brooding over a case.<p>

He was unable to say how much time had passed when he heard the sound of keys in the door lock, followed by the familiar sound of Sherlock rushing up the stairs. John's eyes snapped open, a little bit terrified. God, the moment had finally come, the moment he had been quite afraid of...no, not just quite afraid of, but _very_ afraid of. He felt the sweat trickle down his temple as he desperately tried to think of what to say, when his sociopathic flatmate with the brilliant deduction skills would eventually enter the living room.

_Bang!_ The door to the living room opened and hit the wall with a crashing sound. John's heart nearly missed a beat. "Sherlock! What for God's sake are you doing to my bloody door?" he heard Mrs Hudson shouting from downstairs. John looked at Sherlock, not knowing what would happen next. Would he start an argument with her? Would he slam the door once more? John just couldn't image what Sherlock was likely to do in this situation. What mood was he in? It was absolutely impossible to tell. All he could see was a poker face, a bloody enigmatic poker face. But what was even stranger was that Sherlock's eyes stared at John with the same poker-faced expression.

"Sherlock? What's the matt...?" was all he could utter before he felt a hot, raging kiss seal his lips. A very surprised "Mmmmhm...!" escaped his mouth, but the pair of lips did not care. Very soon John realised he was pushed against the wall of the living room with such brute force it was impossible for him to break away. "John, my own John!" Sherlock's lips voiced into his ear while putting their kiss on hold for a few seconds in order to draw a quick breath. John seized his chance to find out what the hell was going on right now...not that he didn't approve of the events, because in a way he did, but just to make certain. "Sherlock, what are you doing? What's this all about?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm desperately trying to seduce you, so shut up and play along, love." There was nothing he could object to such a statement, so John closed his eyes and focused on the movements of Sherlock's tongue on his neck. God, it really felt quite good, although it was certainly weird thinking it was the same self-centered, eccentric, assumedly asexual man he shared his flat with, who did that to him. He was sure this would take some time for him to get used to.

Good heavens, John's skin tasted better than he had ever thought it might! Sherlock's brain was flooded with fantastic stimulations, new, exciting impressions and the obsessive longing for the man he was snogging at this very moment. In his mind he could hear the angels sing 'Hallelujah'. The intensity and intimacy of the situation overwhelmed his mind and he let out a sharp moan. He allowed his tongue to explore the rest of John's upper body. His collarbone, his scarred shoulder, which he kissed tenderly.

When he wanted to move down further, he found John's shirt was terribly in his way. He impatiently ripped it off and placed his long, slender, white fingers on John's now bare chest. He paused for a few seconds to look at the desired figure in front of him. The man was just too beautiful! He felt he wouldn't care if he went blind at this moment, as long as he would remember this as the last thing he had seen. John's bare chest, his erect nipples, the soft hair covering his pale, smooth skin...it was all his now, at least for this one time.

"John, I think I've fallen for you, so badly I cannot live without you any more." There, he had said it. The truth, and nothing but the truth, had finally been uttered. Sherlock even managed to look John in the eye, trying hard not to think of what was waiting for him even further below John's neck - between his lovely thighs, to be precise. "Be mine for tonight, love." he whispered as suggestively as he could, now running his hands slowly through John's hair. John appeared to be surprised, Sherlock suddenly realised. Had he misjudged the man's feelings for him?

John was truly surprised. He hadn't expected Sherlock to confess his love to him - well, okay, he hadn't actually said 'I love you', but what he had said came as close to Sherlock confessing his love as it could. But in a way all this just happened too quickly. Not even twenty minutes and Sherlock was already kissing and licking his way to the sacred spot between his thighs. He just hoped Sarah wouldn't..._Damn it!_ He had completely forgotten about Sarah and their date at the café. She would be furious. Should he call her to try to explain what had happened? Maybe she would understand. Yes, she would certainly understand - "Sarah, I'm so sorry I didn't show up. I just witnessed my asexual flatmate having sex with a girl in a morgue and when he came home, he started to shag me." Yep, she would _definitely_ understand. Why hadn't he listened to her warning not to go to the morgue to meet Sherlock?...Suddenly he felt a hot rush of blood arriving at his cock and discovered Sherlock trying to unzip his jeans. All right, this was definitely too much for now, John decided. He extricated himself from Sherlock's grip and fled into his room, leaving Sherlock behind with a dangerously quickened pulse and a throbbing erection.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed the first bit of actual slash in this story and as usual - feel free to review :) I already got some funny little ideas for the next chapter and it's definitely going to get much, much hotter than this...<em>


	6. Mind games

_I'm really starting to get obsessed with writing this story...This chapter has been so much fun to write and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. I drew most of my inspiration for it from the song "Goodnight Moon" by Shivaree - I absolutely love the singer's voice. Just in case you'd like to listen to some fitting music while reading the chapter, it's on Youtube :)_

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><p>The last hour's events had left John dizzy and confused. Once he was in his room and had closed the door behind him, he lay down on his bed with a deep sigh. This really was a terrible day! It made John question all the things he had been so sure of: his relationship with Sarah, Sherlock's sexuality, his own feelings for his flatmate - just about everything. He felt exhausted and just wanted to sleep for a couple of hours, just until he would have forgotten all about this day. Well, okay, he wasn't sure he wanted to forget about the part with Sherlock trying to seduce him in his own weird way, because it had actually felt quite, quite good. He crawled under the blanket and shut his eyes firmly. Maybe it would indeed be nice to have Sherlock lying next to him right now...but now that John had rejected him so cruelly he was sure Sherlock would be pouting for the next few days. John was absolutely sure he would.<p>

Oh, he really didn't know enough about Sherlock back then. Had he known his flatmate just a tad better he would have at least suspected Sherlock would not give up that easily...

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><p>It all started with John being in the shower. He was so frustrated he just wanted the hot water and the steam to make him even more dizzy, so that he would eventually drift off into unconsciousness. He leaned against the wall and started staring at the thick cloud of steam just above his head. It was warm and wet in the shower and the sound of myriads of water drops raining down upon his body made him feel at ease, safe, comfortable...<p>

He closed his eyes and let his left hand glide down his chest and towards his hips. His hand got hold of his own cock and started to move rhythmically. Yes, it felt good, it helped lift all the worries and problems from his mind and he started to relax. He suddenly felt as light as a feather, released from all his burdens. His hand moved faster and faster. Still leaning against the wonderfully cold wall, John instinctively arched his back and started to thrust against his hand. He noticed the orgasm building up inside of him and the feeling of lust now had complete control over his body, his nervous system and even his throat. He started to moan with deep pleasure as he flew light-heartedly towards the heavenly feeling.

Suddenly Sherlock popped up in his mind and John startled. The imaginary Sherlock stood next to him in the steamy shower, wearing soaked clothes and holding (John wasn't entirely sure why) a bottle with shower gel. _John, I thought you might need some assistance...you know, with lathering..._ John couldn't help liking this thought, liking it very much indeed. But it could still get _a lot_ better. To be precise, when Sherlock's hypnotizing hands started to touch John's shivering body, covering every single part of it with white foam that smelled of musk and roses.

Sherlock's hands started at his neck, then found their way to his shoulders, chest, nipples, arms, belly..."Oh my..." John panted as the imaginary Sherlock reached the insides of his thighs, lightly stroking his cock as his hands rushed past it. _You like that, John? Well, we're not finished yet._ John couldn't hold it back any longer. "Sherlock!" he groaned, "Just...make me..." _No, John, that's not how you play that game! You'll have to be patient or I won't continue. It's your choice, love._ The detective whispered teasingly. Another, much more impatient "Sherlock!" escaped John's mouth. _Please, John, that's really not the right time to talk so much. Just shut up and enjoy the show._ And with those words the imaginary Sherlock pressed his lips upon John's to silence him.

Sherlock's hands slid down John's chest again, but this time as slowly as possible. Oh, the man was just such a teaser! And John couldn't even release his inner tension by way of his mouth this time. But he just...had to moan. The tension was unbearable. It was tearing him apart from inside. "Mmmh!" A muffled groan exited John's throat.

Now the imaginary Sherlock started to take off his clothes, one by one. First his soaked shirt, then his expensive leather shoes and finally his fancy, but also terribly soaked black trousers. Now only in his pants, Sherlock kneeled down and grabbed John's cock, that was so erect it almost hurt. He caressed it with his long, beautiful fingers, running them over his cock's moist tip and making the most seductive sounds. John felt like he was dying, his feelings were overwhelming him and he couldn't think of anything but the almost nude man in front of him. The tall, handsome man with the incredible dark curls, standing only in his underwear right in front of him, seducing him in their flat's warm and wet and steamy shower.

_John, I need you so much..._followed by an incredibly seductive purr. That was it. Now John had officially become a slave to him. And then...Sherlock finally did what he had wanted him to do so badly: He took John's hard-on in his mouth and massaged it with his tongue, his saliva coating it with a sticky moistness. John moaned again, shuddering out of pure pleasure and lust. "God, Sherlock, yes...yes, suck me harder!" John was soo incredibly close to the most exciting orgasm he had ever had. He could already feel it...

It was at that exact moment that he heard another loud _Bang_ followed by a more obscure sound he couldn't quite identify. These sounds were certainly not products of his own imagination, so they had to be real...and they seemed really close. Oh God, no, what if someone had come into the bathroom? And what was he doing? Standing in the shower, masturbating and moaning Sherlock's name. What if it was...? It was almost too embarrassing to think about that. _Crack!_ It was that weird, unfathomable sound again. What the hell was it? It sounded a little bit like a...Oh no, it didn't just sound like one, it _was_ a riding crop. It was a riding crop lashing the shower curtain. John was absolutely petrified. That could only mean one thing. And so far John wasn't entirely sure he would like what was to come...

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><p><em>Sorry for that little cliffhanger at the end. I just couldn't resist the temptation. After all, how did a brilliant Irish writer once put it? "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."<em>


	7. Not quite the ordinary talk

_I'm so incredibly sorry I didn't update sooner. I'm about to move in less than a week and I've been so busy packing. But thank God I finally found some spare time to bring Sherlock and John closer together *squee*_

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><p>John turned off the water. He listened intently, but he couldn't really hear anything right now.<p>

"Sh-Sherlock?" he asked cautiously. "Is that you?"

No reply.

"Look, Sherlock, if you think you can fool me..."

Still not a single sound in the bathroom.

"I know you're there!"

Silence, then suddenly - "John, of course I'm here. You called me, so here I am."

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock! I didn't call you and besides, I locked the bathroom door. How did you get in here?"

"Oh, John, this is just a bathroom door, not Fort Knox!"

John couldn't believe Sherlock had actually broken into the bathroom. He grabbed the bath towel lying on the toilet lid right next to the shower and rubbed himself dry. Then he drew the shower curtain aside a little bit to stick his head outside and face his flatmate.

"What? I...I really don't care whether it was difficult to pick the lock, you just...you can't just break into the bathroom when I locked it specifically in order to have some privacy, which is, I have to admit, pretty difficult in this flat."

"But John, you called my name - several times, as I remember - and as you sounded pretty uncomfortable, I thought it'd be best to check if everything was all right."

"Of course I am all right. I just...needed a shower. You may have noticed my day wasn't exactly easy."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"I mean, we...we really have to talk about what happened today. The morgue, you and Molly...then this thing...whatever it was...when you came home...I'm just so confused, Sherlock, I really don't know how to feel anymore."

"Of course we should talk about this. But if you don't mind, I've got an interesting little idea how we could, you know, spice things up a little bit."

"Spice up?"John wasn't sure he liked the sound of Sherlock's voice when he had said that. It reminded him too much of Sherlock's 'right now could be just the right time for a new experiment'-voice. And so far John had done everything he could to avoid being the centre of one of those 'experiments'. Apart from that, the persistent voice deep inside of him told him he would definitely not get the ordinary talk he had asked for.

"Yes, John, spice up. You know, heating up...getting hot...and that's exactly what I brought this for!" And with a most jubilant expression he held up his beloved riding crop. "Ah, sometimes I simply love this brilliantly creative mind of mine!" he exclaimed. John just could not believe his eyes and ears. His flatmate really had no clue how to deal with people.

"No, Sherlock, no! Just...forget about it! I'm not going to let you whip me senseless as if I were some disobedient horse while you keep talking about how brilliant you are. Even I have a little dignity of my own." John was absolutely enraged by now, but not enraged enough to overlook Sherlock's childish, pouting face right in front of his eyes. Somehow it was...cute. Just cute...and maybe also a tiny little bit sexy. It was such a typical Sherlock expression.

"Oh, darling..." _Darling?_ That, on the other hand, was absolutely unlike Sherlock. "Don't be mad at me. This will be so much nicer than you think. And I definitely have no intention at all to hit you, hurt you, make you beg or whatever...although, I have to admit, I would quite like that...No, my poor little doctor..." He took a few steps towards the shower. He was pretty close by now and John felt like he could smell the testosterone desperately escaping his flatmate's pores.

"No, John, I have fooled you for far too long. Today I have realised that, in order to make you trust me, love me, I need to be honest with you and respect your needs and desires. So, doctor, tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. I am at your command and at your command only." And with a maddeningly sexy purr he rubbed his nose against John's. "I'll be your slave, doctor..." he whispered.

Those words had a debilitating effect on John's knees: They started wobbling and he had to cling to the shower curtain to remain upright.

"Well, you wanted to talk to me about today's events and I simply want to be as honest with you as I can, so I'll start by telling you I wanted you to witness me and Molly having sex in the morgue."

"What? You wanted me to...? But - but why?"

"John, isn't it obvious? So that I could be sure about your feelings for me. And your reaction made it pretty obvious to me: The whole day you have been completely confused, deep in thought, you have tried so incredibly hard to avoid my humble presence and, what is most important, you have completely forgotten about your date with Sarah, who, as you have told me about a week ago, is the 'love of your life'. John, you may be able to fool yourself, but you cannot fool me. I am absolutely familiar with your feelings for me and that is exactly why I am here. I am here to give you what you are so desperately craving for."

"A-And what is that?" John simply couldn't stay focused any longer. He was sure he would collapse every second now, right into Sherlock's arms. But...no, this time he would have to resist the temptation to become Sherlock's slave. This time his flatmate would be the slave. Oh, _yes_...And he would make him beg. And if he didn't obey, he would hit him. Hit him senseless. Hit Sherlock's buttocks so hard they would for evermore be branded as 'property of John H. Watson'. And all he would need for that was Sherlock's infamous riding crop. A naughty, naughty smirk appeared on John's lips as he started kissing and biting Sherlock, dragging him inside the shower as he did so.

"Well, let's see then who's been a bad boy today, shall we?" John drew the shower curtain close and turned on the water. Within a few seconds it was sizzling and steam started to appear above their heads. Now was the right time, John just knew it. He shoved his flatmate against the wall and started to lick his neck. His tongue moved rapidly on Sherlock's pale, sweet-smelling skin and soon was ready to proceed to more...intimate areas of the detective's body.

"All right, this is the time when you will finally be punished for being such a naughty, naughty boy, Sherlock." he whispered into the man's ear.

"I have already surrendered, master. Whatever you want, I'll do it."

"Good boy. I see you're starting to learn. Now...undress!" he commanded as sternly as he could.

"Well, master, the thing is...I assume I will have to be motivated to do so."

"All right, then..." _Crack!_ The riding crop hit Sherlock's right thigh with a loud cracking noise and he moaned with pleasure."Oh God, yeees! But...I'm still...not motivated enough...master..."

Another _Crack!_, this time closer to Sherlock's crotch. "I said: _Undress!_"

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><p><em>Yeah, there's more to come in the next chapter! They're finally getting physical ;)<em>


	8. A drug called John Watson

The next thing Sherlock remembered was that he was lying prone on the floor of the shower, completely undressed, with John standing just above him and petting the riding crop thoughtfully. He really did not know exactly how he had ended up this way, but there were certainly situations worse than this. John had suddenly turned into a vamp, an insanely sexy, seductive, kinky male vamp and, oh God, he was so in love with this fascinating creature of the night. He made him lose all his self control (at least all that was left of it after he had been forced to undress in the hot, wet and steamy shower by the man he was obsessed with, holding a riding crop). _John, dear, dear John, please...just make the time stand still so we can be in here forever and ever and ever...and now start whipping me, you sexy beast! Whip me as hard as you possibly can._ And although John couldn't hear his lover's thoughts, he knew exactly what he required. "Are you ready, you naughty, lecherous boy? I guess it's just about time for some very kinky stuff."

Sherlock turned around a little bit to face the doctor. He just couldn't say anything, for his mind was far too distracted to come up with any useful sentences or even words. So he simply tried to put as much longing and affirmation into this one glance as possible. He was sure his eyes were gleaming with lust and some 'yeah, yeah, I'm ready...so incredibly ready'. _Just hit me now or I'll come without you even touching me. All this waiting is driving me crazy! I need it now...I need you now._ And suddenly the whip hit Sherlock, this time striking his bare bum and and the lower part of his back. A muffled, but deeply satisfied groan escaped Sherlock's throat. "Yessss, so good...keep going, J-John." Somehow, his ability of speech was pretty much impeded. The pleasure he felt was the most overwhelming emotion that had ever taken control of his body and mind, so maybe there simply hadn't been enough free space in his brain to process all of this feeling...Another sharp pain shot through his body as John hit his spine...and then again...and again...and again...then another whip near his anus. By now Sherlock was wincing with pain, but the whipping simply felt too good to beg John to stop.

When he realised John had stopped whipping him, he looked up questioningly. "Are you all right, John?" "Yes, of course...I'm fine. More than fine, actually. I'm feeling like I'm about to burst with satisfaction. But your back, Sherlock...doesn't look too good, maybe..." "Oh, who cares?" Sherlock exclaimed angrily, "Just get back to work!" "Sherlock, I love you very much and would do almost anything for you, but I won't cripple you. If I continue whipping you, you won't be able to move for days, maybe a week or even more. And then you couldn't repay me...if you know what I mean." He winked seductively. "But, John...you can't do this to me! If you stop now, this intense unfulfilled lust inside of me will cripple and invalid me." By now Sherlock was almost begging. He knew his arguments were utter nonsense, but he was too desperate to think clearly. "Well, love, who told you I was intending to stop now? We've only just begun. Now shut this pretty little mouth of yours and pay attention to what comes next."

And then John sat down on Sherlock and shoved the riding crop right into the detective's mouth. He turned the water a little bit hotter, so that the steam above their heads became even denser. And from now on the deepest pleasure imaginable fogged Sherlock's brain. John made himself comfortable on his buttocks and started to hump him. At first pretty slowly, then more and more impatiently and eventually as needily as a horny teenager. Sherlock couldn't help biting the riding crop in a desperate attempt to control himself. John had got hold of Sherlock's crotch and was now rubbing it fervently. "Good...God! J-John, yes, fuck me, just fuck me hard and don't you dare stop now! Yes, yes...oh God!"

John Watson was the one person in his life he simply could not resist. His voice excited him, his body was an incredibly powerful stimulus for Sherlock and whenever John was around, he found it extremely difficult to focus on any other thing than his own lust and excitement. In a nutshell: John Watson was the end of the cold-hearted, quick-witted, purely logical calculating machine Sherlock Holmes. John Watson was about to turn the old Sherlock Holmes into a kinky, craving, constantly horny sex machine. And right now John Watson's hands were doing wonders to his cock.

After a short time Sherlock came (he wasn't sure exactly how long it took him, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes as he had already been really aroused even before John had started shagging him like a maniac). When he felt the warm, sticky fluid emerging from the tip of his penis he moaned with deep satisfaction. "Oh my...John, that was the...best orgasm I've ever had in my life!" he panted. "I'm so obsessed with you, my handsome doctor. I get hard every time I see you. I just can't imagine life without you any more..." And those words finally sent John into the dark vortex of his own orgasm. "Sh-Sherlock, we've got to stop this or I'll never be sane again. The things you do to me...to my body...to my cock...things that should be illegal." The sound of the running water muffled John's voice and gave it a funny sound. Sherlock giggled like a child. He was high, absolutely high, high on emotion. He had finally found the drug that was better than heroin and all the other stuff he used to take.

It was called 'John Watson'.

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><p><em>Wow, writing this chapter was not as easy as I thought it would be. But I hope you liked it nevertheless. I would be eternally grateful if you could give me some feedback :)<em>


	9. All touchy  feely

_All right, after a really long pause I've finally finished a new chapter. It's much more emotional and, well, philosophical than the other chapters, but I think it's the right time for John and Sherlock to think and talk about their blossoming romance :) Enjoy!_

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><p>After the incident in the shower, John felt exhausted. Not in a negative way, no, he felt exhausted in the most positive way imaginable. The pure satisfaction he had felt in there and which he was still only too aware of, had exhausted him. It seemed to him that, all these years, he had only waited for Sherlock to appear in his life and love him. Being together with Sherlock was very different from being together with any other person he could imagine. Being together with him involved more than just love and occasional touches. It also and foremost involved fiery passion, lust and that curious need for adventure he had never experienced in himself before. Their relationship wasn't exactly romantic, it was far more instinctive and, if that was the right word to describe a relationship, wild. It simply made him incredibly happy and he thanked God for having brought them together.<p>

It was already dark outside when John entered his room and changed into his pyjamas. He snuggled down beneath the covers, turned off the lights and shut his eyes. He quickly fell asleep. This night had the same dreams in store for him, which he had had the last few days: Dreams about Sherlock. Dirty, little dreams about him and Sherlock, their content only too obvious. But after today John was able to say that the real thing was by far better than those silly dreams - and that was quite an achievement as even those dreams had always left him rather...satisfied. It was all simply too good to be true.

In the middle of the night John suddenly woke up because of a noise somewhere near his bed. Very confused, he turned on the light again and scanned the room for anything unusual, but there was nothing unusual in there. He waited for a moment and then went back to sleep. But suddenly he became aware of a large figure huddling against him in the dark and making strange purring noises.

"Johnnnn!"

...

It took him a while to understand what was going on. He opened his eyes again and rolled on his side to face the detective lying right next to him.

"Sh-Sherlock? What's the matter? It must be really early. I have to go to work tomorrow, you know."

"You didn't even wish me a good night. So I'm here to take revenge!"

"But Sherlock, that was all your fault. You're the one who rushed outside like a maniac after this thing in the shower, saying it was urgent. When you weren't back by 11 o'clock I decided to go to bed."

"Yeah, I know, I just needed some sort of excuse to come in here." Sherlock said, smiling his irrestistable boyish smile, which John could even make out in the dim light of the moon coming in through the curtains.

"John, I...I have to tell you something. It isn't exactly easy for me to say that, but...I feel like it's absolutely necessary that you know. I won't be able to sleep before I have told you..."

Sherlock's voice had by then turned into a barely audible whisper. The detective's mouth approached John's left ear and his lips gently caressed his earlobe. John shivered upon the touch. Having this pair of full, beautiful, perfect lips touch the sensitive skin of his earlobe was an incredible feeling, it felt like an intense burn of pure sensation. He involuntarily moaned with pleasure.

**"I love you."**

John was flabbergasted, absolutely flabbergasted. Had Sherlock, the self-confessed high-functioning sociopath, actually just confessed his love to him - using the three magic words and not just some 'I'd be lost without my blogger' circumlocution? Blast, he was head over heels in love with this fascinating creature and he was completely consumed with this love. He wanted Sherlock next to him every moment of every day of every year and just...for ever.

"I love you too, my mad little sociopath." Upon this, they both started chuckling. John lovingly put his arms around Sherlock and drew him as close as he could. "You know, I'm just so happy we found each other. With you in my life, it suddenly seems complete, perfect. Promise me you will never leave me, Sherlock. Because I really don't know what I'd be capable of if you did."

"Oh John, why should I ever want to leave you? You're the one steadying influence in my life. You're like my panacea. You cure all my diseases, you solve all my problems. You're more than just a doctor, John, you're a...witch doctor."

"Come on, Sherlock, now you're being really silly."

"But it's true! It's just that I really cannot express my overwhelming feelings for you in a normal, sensible way. See what you're doing to my poor brain?"

This man was just too cute, John decided for himself. In a way, he was like a child, an absolutely adorable, naïve little child with an oversized brain and no clue how to deal with other people and their feelings. John buried his face in his lover's chest and greedily inhaled his smell.

"D'you want to stay here for the night, sweetheart?" Sherlock nodded. And thus they fell asleep, huddled together and with the certainty that their lives couldn't possible be any more perfect.

Maybe there was a romantic side to their relationship after all...

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><p>The next morning John had to get up early. So he cautiously removed sleeping Sherlock's arm from his hip, got up and opened his closet to choose some proper clothes for work. When he opened the door to proceed to the bathroom, he heard Sherlock yawn and move noisily on the bed behind him.<p>

"Where're you going?" he said sleepily.

"I told you I have to go to work. After you so skillfully forced me to leave prematurely yesterday, I really have to be on time today or Sarah will dismiss me. I guess she will be quite angry with me anyway because of the date I missed yesterday. But I'll be back in no time, sweetheart, don't you worry."

John went over to the bed and kissed the half sleeping detective lightly on the lips. But suddenly Sherlock was wide awake, pulled John down on to the bed and showered him with passionate kisses.

"Well, who said I would let you go, love?" he mumbled hastily between two kisses.

Argh, why did Sherlock have to make it so hard for him to leave the house? All he wanted was to stay in bed with Sherlock the whole day long, kissing and talking and touching and...But he was already quite late for work and so he gave his lover one last, long, fiery French kiss and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could to stop himself from going back upstairs.

An hour later he sat in his office in the practice and had a look at his schedule. His first patient, an elderly woman who was complaining about a terrible backache, would be there in less than ten minutes. When he had arrived at the practice Sarah had already been waiting for him, because she desperately wanted 'to talk about what happened yesterday'.

"Look, I know you don't have feelings for me any more and that's...that's absolutely okay. I can live with it. I mean, all right, I was pretty fed up with you when you didn't show up for our date yesterday, but, hey, I've accepted it - you're in love with your flatmate. It's obvious and there's nothing I can do about it. I just want to wish you all the best. And I hope this won't have any effect on our professional relationship, because I really do like working with you. You're a very skilled doctor, the patients respect you and the practice needs you. So, do you mind if we try a fresh start?"

Sarah's honesty and placability had moved John. It had reminded him of why he liked her so much - not as a girlfriend, but as a true, reliable friend.

"Thank you so much." he had said, hugging her. "But how do you know I'm in love with Sherlock?"

"Oh, come on, John! Even a blind person could deduce that. The way you look at each other, the way you talk, the way you risk your job and even your life when you think he might be in danger. It is quite obviously love. Or what would you call it?"

"All right, yes, it's...love. At first I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but in the end the feeling was just too strong to fight it, I guess. God, he drives me mad! Whenever I see him, whenever I think of him, which is always, I can't think clearly any more. But...I really shouldn't bother you with it. I'm terribly sorry about yesterday and of course I would like to try a fresh start, because I really care for you too. You're such a dear friend to me, I feel like I don't even deserve you."

Now John was sitting there, waiting for his patient, and thinking about several things all at once: There was the conversation with Sarah, his rude behaviour towards her the other day, and of course Sherlock, who was probably sitting at home, desperately waiting for him to come back again.

The rest of the day went by quite quickly as there weren't many patients waiting to consult him and those who came into his office didn't have any terrible, unsolvable problems. He couldn't wait to come home and spend the evening with Sherlock.

But just as he got up to leave at 5 o'clock, his mobile rang. He glanced at the display: 'Sherlock calling'. He smiled and accepted the call.

"Hi, love! What's the matter? I'm almost on my way home."

"Hello, John, it's...it's me, Greg Lestrade." John couldn't help blushing a little.

"Oh, h-hello. I thought it was..."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that. Look, John, we've got a problem. Could you come over?"

"What is it?" A long, disturbing silence at the other end of the line.

"Sherlock's in hospital."

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><p><em>To be quite honest, I don't know yet where this might end or even what's going to happen next, but I'll come up with something, don't you worry. If you enjoyed Sherlock's and John's emotional confessions, please review :)<em>


	10. It's a drugs bust!

_This chapter sort of is my birthday present to my good friend Nadine, who has once more been a huge inspiration to me. Happy birthday, Nadine!_  
><em>And because she enjoyed the weird JohnLestrade phone call at the end of the last chapter so much (I did, too), I decided to put much more of it into this new chapter. I simply love to have Lestrade tease John about his relationship with Sherlock :) But above all, we're going to find out what happened to Sherlock..._

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><p>In less than half an hour John arrived at the hospital (John had urged the cabbie to drive a little faster than the speed limit, promising him it was a matter of life and death) and met Lestrade, Donovan and two young policemen in front of the main entrance.<p>

"John, I'm so glad you could come." Lestrade exclaimed, shaking his hand. "Er...you of course know Sergeant Donovan..."

"Hello again." John mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

"And those two chaps here are Tom Marshall and Alan Barnes. Well, they found Sherlock."

"_Found_? I mean, could you maybe tell me what exactly happened today? All I know is that he's here in hospital and as you can imagine, I'm really...worried about him."

"Yes, of course, sorry. Well, the thing is...Tom and Alan were on patrol in the East End today and they found someone sitting on the ground in a dimly lit back alley. They say he was nearly unconscious and had several used syringes lying all around him. Of course they tried to take him with them to the police station to question him. But, well, they insist he was too passed out to realise what was going on and he couldn't even stand upright, so they called an ambulance. At the hospital they emptied his coat pockets and found several sleeping pills, more cocaine and some heroin. And, you know, when they found out it was Sherlock, they contacted me, because obviously everyone thinks were mates or whatever." Lestrade said, chuckling with disbelief. "Can you believe that? Well, anyway, when I arrived here I thought it was best to inform you. I mean, you're indisputably his closest...friend."

And that's when Lestrade gave John an uncomfortably knowing look, which, to John, seemed to express something like 'Don't worry, I'm okay with that. I wish you two all the best." But the look that followed, which was a look exchanged between Lestrade and Donovan, nearly made John flip. Had Lestrade told his colleagues about their relationship? He sincerely hoped he hadn't. It was already bad enough Lestrade had found out about them. Why had John been so incautious when answering his phone? Well, because he had been so incredibly sure it would be Sherlock at the other end of the line. How the hell could he have expected Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard calling him, using Sherlock's mobile?

All right, maybe it was best to ignore all that now and simply act like a worried friend and doctor.

"And how is he now? Can I see him?"

"Look, John, I'm neither a doctor nor a psychologist, in fact I don't have any knowledge in these fields, but to me it looks suspiciously like a suicide attempt. He must have already had taken lots of that stuff when they found him, because once he was here in hospital, he collapsed. The doctors say he's still not fully conscious and they want to keep him here for at least a week, for observation and, you know, drug therapy, and he will also have to go into rehab to deal with his obviously very serious drug problem, because otherwise he will be charged with the crime he has committed, which is taking illegal drugs in public. And, John, I know all this isn't exactly easy for you, but we will have to search your flat again, you know, for illegal drugs and stuff like that."

John sighed desperately. He simply couldn't understand what was going on. He had been so sure Sherlock had stopped taking drugs. So why had he started again? He really had no clue why. To him, Sherlock was an enigma, a bloody enigma. His behaviour, his emotions, his mind...all those things were too abnormal to be understood properly.

"Yes, all right, do whatever you think is necessary. But...could I see him now? Just for a few minutes. - Oh, by the way," John moved closer to Lestrade, his voice became little more than a whisper, "what is Donovan doing here? She has nothing to do with all this."

"No, indeed she doesn't. But I needed some sort of assistant and besides, she was just too curious to find about your...relationship."

Lestrade's mouth turned into a wicked little grin and he winked. John was sure he would have to throw up any minute now.

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><p>A few minutes later John and the others stood outside Sherlock's hospital room, talking to the male nurse, who was in charge of the hospital wing.<p>

"You want to see Mr Holmes? May I ask who you are? Are you related to him or are you his...er...?"

John turned around to see the mischievous grins on the others' faces.

"No, I'm not his 'er'. I'm his flatmate."

"I'm sorry, sir, but in that case I can't let you into his room. Only relatives and spouses or life partners are allowed." John rolled his eyes, unnerved.

"Okay, so maybe I _am_ his 'er', his 'life partner', lover or whatever. But what does all that matter?"

Behind him, John heard Donovan squeaking with joy. "I knew it! The freak just cannot have any ordinary relationships - his 'friends' either want to kill him or shag him." he heard her whisper to Lestrade, who started giggling. The male nurse seemed to try incredibly hard to suppress a grin.

"All right, then, Mr 'life partner', in you go." And with an overly jubilant expression on his face he held the door to Sherlock's room open for John.

"You should know that I'm a doctor." John said, putting as much authority and superiority as he could into his words. "So maybe you would be so kind as to tell me what you did when he was brought here?"

"Well, standard procedure, I'd say: His stomach was washed out by gastric lavage to remove any unabsorbed drugs from his stomach and he was given activated charcoal to bind the drugs, keep them in the stomach and the intestines and to reduce the amount of drugs absorbed into the blood. The guys in the ambulance have also given him sedating medication as he was pretty agitated once they had put him on the stretcher. But that's about all I know about these procedures. You see, I'm not a doctor, just a nurse."

John nodded. "All right. So, is he conscious by now?"

"As conscious as somebody in his situation can possibly be. But...why don't you just go in now and see for yourself?"

After a few hesitant steps he now stood right next to the hospital bed. In it lay a person that looked so unlike the Sherlock he was used to, that John had to look twice. Sherlock was even paler than usually, his hair was a complete mess and all the life had been drawn from his face. John took the chair, that was standing in one corner of the room, placed it beside the bed and sat down on it.

"Sherlock..." He grabbed his lover's left hand and squeezed it affectionately. "It's all right, I'm here."


	11. Declarations

The next days John spent almost all the time he could spare sitting next to Sherlock's hospital bed, holding his hand and talking to him about all sorts of things. Not that Sherlock replied to anything he said - it was basically just John talking and Sherlock lying in bed, obviously feeling terribly sick. The first two days nothing really happened, except that Sherlock threw up several times and looked like a zombie. But on the third day, he started to feel much better and on the fourth day Sherlock was allowed to go for a short stroll in the park right behind the hospital building. John accompanied him gladly.

They walked through the park, admiring the autumn leaves on the trees around them, listening to some birds singing their songs, but not exchanging a single word. There was that really quirky, embarrassing, painful atmosphere of suppressed questions pervading the air. Now that Sherlock was recovering so well and had stopped being so helpless, John found it incredibly difficult to talk to him. He wanted to ask him so many questions, but the right moment to ask all of them simply wouldn't present itself. And Sherlock...well, John had the feeling he was embarrassed by everything that had happened exactly five days ago. But suddenly Sherlock stopped dead in his track.

"John, can you forgive me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have put you through so much these past few days. I will never be able to make up for all the sorrow I've caused you. So the only thing I can do is to sincerely ask you for forgiveness."

"Oh, Sherlock, now you are exaggerating! I should have noticed your depression, I should have helped you. I should be the one to blame for your suicide attempt. I was selfish and..."

"John, have you gone mad? What are you talking about? I was the one who was too selfish and abused your feelings for his own good. But I certainly never attempted suicide."

"Of course you did. You overdosed on heroin, God damn it! Why else should you have done that?" A long pause ensued, during which John stared desperately at Sherlock, whose eyes were riveted to the ground.

"To cope with my feelings."

Now John was completely confused. "But...why?"

Sherlock took a few more steps forward and slumped onto a bench. He closed his eyes so as to gather his thoughts right before a long talk and lowered his head. Then he signalled John to sit down next to him and took John's hands in his. Finally he managed to look John in the eye.

"John," he started hesitantly, "people like you may be used to things like love and passion and...lust, because you have experienced them so often. But to me, they're something completely new. The only love I have ever left was for my work, for especially tricky cases, for criminals who were able to outdo me. That's what all my emotional food consisted of. I have never felt the things I feel for you for anything or anyone else. You confuse my body, my soul and what's most important my brain. I cannot focus on anything else whenever you're around. And that's a situation I simply have lots of problems dealing with. I have always been a terribly logical human being and that's why I have neglected my emotional side. For me, emotions have always been equivalent to weakness, to human error. And after those past few days, when I have realised that I actually do have feelings of a weakening sort for someone else, for you, to be precise, I just didn't know how to cope with all of this. I felt depressed, helpless, confused...and just so ordinarily human and I desperately needed help. But where to turn to for such help? I have to admit I was too afraid to talk to you about my problem, because I thought you would...mock me. And quite obviously I couldn't ask Lestrade or anyone else at Scotland Yard for help without indirectly informing them of my profound feelings for you. That is why I have turned to one of my oldest friends for help..."

John was speechless. He had expected anything but that. Sherlock confiding in him, revealing his innermost thoughts, his deeply human side to an ordinary guy like John Watson. Somehow he was angry with Sherlock, in a way a mother might be with her child when it has unnecessarily put itself in harm's way. But on the other hand Sherlock's confession moved him deeply, deeper than he would ever be able to admit.

"Really, Sherlock, you need to start trusting other people. Of course you could have told me about your problems. That's what friendship and also love is all about - trusting and helping each other. Love's not just about sex and passion, you know...By the way, I was really moved by your cute little declaration of love when you came into my bedroom this one night after the...you know...the shower incident." John said amiably.

Sherlock, who had been into some sort of trance after his confession, was suddenly wide awake.

"My 'cute little declaration of love'? How come I don't remember anything at all about this?"

"Oh, Sherlock, you certainly can't have forgotten about it! You crept into my bed in the middle of the night and told me you loved me and couldn't live without me any more."

"John, I am one hundred percent sure I never did that."

"Of course you did...Wait, could it be you had already consumed some drugs by then? Because I clearly remember you came home very late that night. Might it be you went to some dark back alley and stocked up on heroin?"

"Oh, please, John, I'm not that stereotypical! Why should I go to a back alley to buy my stuff like some common criminal? I've got my own secret sources." Sherlock started to laugh when he saw the shocked expression on John's face. "No, I'm just kidding you."

And then Sherlock became much more earnest. "But, love...is it too late now to repeat my 'cute little declaration of love'? You know, to make it official, because right now, I'm stone-cold sober and you can believe every single word I say."

John nodded shyly, trying to put all of the emotions he felt at that very moment into one gesture of appreciation. Sherlock took hold of John's hands and put them on his breast, right next to his heart.

"John Watson, I love you with all my heart, and I will do so forever and ever. You're the one missing piece in my life, you complete me, heal me, transform me. Can you possibly forgive me for all my mistakes and weaknesses and my...human error?"

John felt tears of joy welling up in his eyes. He couldn't help smiling. Sherlock was such a silly, silly kid, but he loved him deeply.

"Of course I can forgive you. I can do anything you want me to, as long as you promise to love me."

The next thing John remembered was that he was knocked over by Sherlock pressing his lips on John's and kissing him hungrily. Sherlock's skin smelled of hospitals, of disinfectant and of chemicals, but even that smell turned John on. Sherlock made him go mad, he wanted him so badly. He wanted to see Sherlock's bare white skin in front of his eyes, he wanted his strong legs to capture him and his skilled hands to touch every single part of his body..._every_ part.

"Just wait what I'll do to you once they let me out of here." Sherlock whispered into John's ear seductively. John giggled.

"I can hardly wait..."

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><p><em>Phew, it's incredibly hard for me to say that, but...this was the last chapter. Thanks everyone for reading the story and for submitting such wonderful, inspiring reviews. It's been a real pleasure :)<em>


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